Drink a Beer
by Bionic Egypt
Summary: America just received the worst news of his life. When he finds himself at the place he and his brother had always visited, memories start to play in his mind. He'd never forget the forgotten.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, Drink a Beer by Luke Bryan, or anything else you may recognize. I've been listening to the song once or twice a day for the last three friggin weeks, and an evil little plot bunny has buried itself into my mind. So this has come to be. I apologize. This is sad-ish. Thanks and enjoy **_**Drink a Beer**_**.**

* * *

Drink a Beer

I walked numbly down the pier and sat down, still in shock over what I had heard. A few minutes ago someone had called me from the hospital, giving me the worst news I had ever received in my life. The conversation was playing over and over again in my mind.

"_Alfred Jones?_" the woman on the other line asked.

"Yes?" I replied, absentmindedly flipping through a book.

"_I'm sorry to inform you, but your brother, Mathew Williams, was admitted earlier today_," she said apologetically. Now she had my full attention.

"What happened? Is he okay?" I demanded, throwing the novel to the ground.

"_I'm sorry_," she repeated. "_He was pronounced DOA_."

I knew that meant dead on arrival. My brother was . . . dead?

"_Mr. Jones?_" the woman questioned. "_Are you alright?_"

". . . I don't know," I admitted slowly.

Without another word, I hung up the phone. I got to my feet and started walking, unsure of my destination. Maybe a walk would clear my head. Somehow I found myself heading to the pier my brother and I had spent countless Saturdays at.

Thoughts ran through I mind, almost faster than I could think them. How could he be gone? How could Canada have died? He always had my back, was always there when I needed to talk. He put up with me when others just said forget about it. Why was he gone? Where was the justice in that?

I sighed sadly, instinctively grabbing the small cooler I kept out in the boat shed for when Canada came to visit. When I sat down on the edge of the pier, memories started flashing through my mind, happy memories.

* * *

"_Come on, bro, it'll be priceless!" I urged._

_Canada rolled his eyes. "America, I don't think this is a good idea."_

"_I'm doing this whether you agree or not, so you might as well agree," I told him. Canada sighed, shaking his head._

"_Fine," he consented. "Go ahead and pull your stupid prank."_

"_Hey, it's not stupid!" I argued. "It's gonna help you get noticed!"_

_Before he could answer, I turned around and headed into the meeting room. This was going to be fun._

_Ten minutes later, after Germany had already yelled at everyone twice –well, he yelled at Italy seven times, but who's counting –I hit a button on my laptop, which I had out pretending to take notes, starting my awesome plan._

_The song Canadian Please started blaring out over the speakers I had set up everywhere, scaring the crap out of everyone. Germany started demanding that someone turn the music off, but no one was listening to him. They were all busy trying to figure out who had started the song. While they were doing that, I started laughing at the chorus._

Brits have got the monarchy, the US has the money, but I know that you want to be Canadian. The French have got the wine and cheese, kolas chill with the Aussies, but I know that you want to be Canadian.

_Then there was some French crap that I didn't understand, but it confused the few who did even more –besides Canada, of course._

"_What kind of fool plays something in French?" England demanded. "Frog, this is all your doing, I bet!"_

"_Non, Angleterre," France argued. "Listen to ze song. Zis is all Canada's fault!"_

_Everyone started mumbling among themselves. I managed to hear one question repeated several times. Canada? Who is Canada?_

"_Dudes!" I announced, leaping to my feet. I dragged my brother up with me. "This dude right beside me is Canada, the coolest bro I've ever had!"_

_Canada grinned sheepishly at the crowd, who seemed to be looking right through him. After a few seconds, they seemed to notice him._

"_Oh! Canada!" one of the Nordics recalled. "I didn't recognize you."_

"_None of us did," England added. "Sorry lad."_

"_It's alright," Canada said quietly._

_A few seconds later, everyone looked away from Canada and I, turning back to the meeting. After the meeting was over, someone ran into my brother._

"_Sorry America," I heard them apologize._

_Upset, I walked over. "Dude, I'm America! That's Canada, remember?"_

"_Oh. My mistake."_

"_Yeah," I scoffed. "Your mistake."_

* * *

I felt a tear run down my cheek at the memory. Though it didn't work in getting my brother remembered, that song was always a useful tool in confusing and shocking everybody.

I grabbed a drink out of the cooler and popped the cap off, blatantly ignoring the fact that I was physically too young to drink. Whose stupid idea was it to apply an underage drinking law to a nation anyway? Canada had always found to hilarious that I was so ticked about it. Now the thought just of him laughing at me made me sad.

* * *

"_Seriously, who does that?!" I demanded._

_A police officer had seen me drink and, of course, stuck me in the back of his car. Canada offered to come with me, and for some reason the cop let him. Now we were down at the station, and I was handcuffed to a desk for some reason._

"_Apparently American police officers," Canada smirked._

_I glared at him. "Oh, so this is my fault?"_

"_Pretty much," he mused. "They're your officers, after all."_

"_What I don't get is why you weren't arrested. You drank more than I did," I complained._

"_But you were the only one drinking when the cop drove by," Canada reminded me._

"_Oh shove it!" I hissed._

_Eventually the cop came back in and asked me why I'd been drinking._

"_Dude, it was one beer," I scoffed. "Besides, I'm not nineteen!"_

"_Really," the officer said sarcastically. "Lemme guess, you're actually twenty-one?"_

"_Nope, but call the third number I've got in my phone and everything will be all cleared up," I suggested._

_The cop sighed, but took my phone anyway. He scrolled through the contacts until he came to the number that I knew read 'Boss.' When the other person picked up, Canada and I could just barely hear what they were saying._

"Dammit, I told you I'm not watching a horror movie with you," _my boss growled._

"_Um, sir? This is Officer Downing from the DCPD. I'm calling on behalf of Alfred F. Jones," the cop explained. I rolled my eyes._

_I heard my boss sigh. "_What did he do this time?_"_

"_He was caught drinking underage," Officer Downing explained._

". . . Seriously?_" my boss asked. "_That's why you called me?_"_

"_Well, yes. May I ask who I'm speaking to?" _

_I grinned when I heard my boss say "_I'm the President. Now how about you drop the charges? I'll deal with him later_."_

"_Oh." _

_After a few seconds, the two came to an agreement. The charges against me were dropped and I was free to go. I had to go with my boss's wife to the next romantic comedy that came out, but it was worth it. _

* * *

Another tear slipped down my face as I remembered how hard Canada had laughed when he heard I had to watch a romantic comedy. He had laughed even more when I admitted afterwards that I actually enjoyed the movie.

Why did he die? He had done nothing wrong. His country was doing well, people didn't hate him. No one wanted him gone. A line from a song I had heard a few times before sprang into my mind: only the good die young. Technically speaking, Canada was fairly young. Most countries were at least twice as old as us.

As the sun started to set, I remembered all the times that we used to sit here and do exactly what I was doing: watching the sunset and drinking a beer. It had become a favorite past time of ours every time he came to visit. Well, during Prohibition we drank water, but it was basically the same.

Every time Canada had come over, we would talk about the most random thing we could think of. I remembered one time when we had argued for three hours over hotdog toppings. Why had I argued with him? I wished I could take every argument back, every unkind word, every harsh action. Why couldn't I have had time to say my last goodbyes? Maybe –maybe if I said something now, there'd be a chance he would hear me from wherever he was.

"Canada, bro," I whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry dude. I didn't mean any of the bad things I ever said."

I swore I could hear a soft laugh from beside me. When I whipped my head around, I saw a translucent figure sitting on the dock, his legs hanging off the edge. With a shocked gasp, I realized who it was.

"Canada?" I croaked in disbelief.

He grinned at me. "Hey Al."

"But you're –you're dead. How are you here?"

Canada laughed. "I'm not, technically. I just wanted to say goodbye."

"I'm so sorry," I apologized. "I never meant any of the bad things I've ever said."

"I know Al," he smiled. "I never blamed you."

The sun started shining brighter, making Canada sigh. What was wrong? He seemed nearly solid before, but now it was like he was fading.

"Canada? What's going on?" I asked.

"I've gotta go," he said sadly. "I only had a minute to say goodbye."

"I love you bro," I reminded him. "I'll miss you."

"I love you too," Canada assured me. "And I'll definitely miss you."

"I'll think of you every time I come here," I vowed. "I'll never forget you."

Canada smiled. "I hope not. Goodbye America."

As my brother faded into mist and sunlight, I started crying again. I had probably just imagined the whole thing. My brother was gone. He wasn't coming back.

But I would never forget him. I would never let myself forget Canada. Mathew Williams would always be my brother. I would come to this dock every Saturday for the rest of my life, to remember the times that we spent here. I wouldn't forget my brother.

* * *

**Um . . . what did you think? Was the part at the end where America saw Canada's ghost too out-there? Thanks for reading!**

**~C**


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